Not So Sick After All
by RenaRoo
Summary: Shiro is not sick. Not at all.


Anonymous prompted: if you're still taking sick fic prompts, team voltron and their "Open Secret"? whoever's sick is up to you, I just want to see them all trying to dance around the topic

Voltron: Legendary Defender and related properties © Dreamworks  
story © RenaRoo

 **Not Sick At All**

In hindsight – and only ever in hindsight – illness was a terribly inconvenient secret to hide.

There were just too many variables, too many downsides, to really keep it a secret for long but _at the time_ it was the only sensible thing he could think to do. After all, there were just too many responsibilities, too many people reliant upon his judgment and skills. Too many friends who would be let down if he was not at the top of his game.

So Shiro hid the fact that he had the flu – such a dumb thing to catch as an adult man in _space_ , anyway.

Or, so he thought.

When he sneezed over Pidge's shoulder while listening to her analysis of the Galra's ship signals, he found her trained eyes leering at him from behind her too large glasses.

She crossly scooted her glasses back up her nose and raised a brow. "Shiro, are you not feeling well?" she asked tentatively.

"I'm fine," Shiro balked. He shook his head, getting back his collective calm, and crossed his arms. He looked over her head at the screens. "More than fine. I need to know what's going on here more than you need to be worrying about _me_ anyway. So, carry on."

Pidge shifted uncomfortably for a moment and opened her mouth to say something. But she then closed and continued, pointing toward the data on the screen.

There was a certain elation Shiro felt at his success after that.

It was good that his confidence and bravado was enough to give the reassurance Pidge needed. He didn't need her or any of his fellow paladins to be worried about him. They needed to worry about the Galra.

It was later, when his throat was that certain sort of sore-dry, but his cough felt filmy and disgusting, that he was trying to suggest to Keith that he learn how to do minor maintenance and repairs from Hunk.

"It can only help you in the future," Shiro said, battling his hoarseness.

"I can _do_ basic things," Keith groaned.

"But not on this new kind of technology," he began to argue only for the last words to get caught in his throat, expelling as a _kin-off-tch-gee_ that only to Shiro was anything comprehensive.

He turned and hacked into his elbow before turning back.

Keith blinked, wide eyed and shoulders high.

"Shiro, what was _that?"_ he asked. "Are you dying?"

"I was clearing my throat," Shiro argued immediately. He put his hands on his hips and scowled. " _Obviously."_

There was a quiet beat where Keith slowly squinted at the black paladin before crossing his arms. "Yeah? In the middle of a sentence?"

"It got your attention, didn't it?" Shiro asked back, nose high in the air.

For a moment, Keith seemed intent on continuing to squint at him before shrugging his shoulders and looking off. "Sure. Whatever, man. I'll talk to Hunk for you."

Chest swelling a bit with pride at his deft hand in dealing with the situation, Shiro nodded to himself and began toward the door.

He was riding high on his successes when the cold sweat began to work its way unavoidably up his back and across his forehead. Which, unfortunately, was going to be rather difficult to excuse. So he wrapped himself in a sweat towel and sat outside the training room, looking over some of the files Pidge had sent him on a tablet.

Which was where Lance found him.

"Oh ho! Shiro! Perfect!" he called out, stopping himself and redirecting to Shiro's position and sauntering over. "Just the Head of Voltron I needed to see! Go figure."

Shiro gritted his teeth to keep the clattering down and huddled down more toward his knees to balance himself and stop as much shivering as he could. An effort apparently worthwhile considering Lance flopped down in the seat beside him and seemed utterly oblivious to Shiro's struggles.

"On a _purely_ hypothetical level, if you were to run into the kitchen right now and see, oh, I don't know: a _complete_ disaster, who would be the first person on your list of suspects?" Lance asked, voice picking up in speed as if to mask any visible truth to his concerns. "It's Hunk, right? You'd definitely look at that – if it existed – and think immediately, _Hey, Hunk must've been experimenting with recipes again._ Right?"

Eyes demanding to be shut, Shiro groaned and rubbed at his face. "Lance…" he said in warning.

"Okay, okay. So I _may_ know something about the kitchen," Lance sighed. "You always see things to the truth of the matter, huh, Shiro?" He waited a moment before tilting his head and leaning in closer. "Hey, Shiro. You alright? You're… I dunno. Clammy looking."

"I had a private workout," Shiro huffed.

"Uh _huh,_ sure," Lance said, brow raising high.

With a long sigh, Shiro forced himself to sit back up and look dully at Lance. "As soon as I find out what's happened in the kitchen, you'll be on the top of that list. But thank you for the head's up."

Immediately, any concern dropped from Lance's face and he threw up his arms. "What? You've gotta be _kidding!_ You should be thanking me for alerting you!"

"I'll thank you by getting to the bottom of it," Shiro said, raising to his feet and ignoring his sway. Something Lance seemed upset enough to ignore, too.

Whatever determination had carried Shiro to the kitchen had soon faded into a dizzy spell as he entered the doors. Which led to him collapsing in the nearest chair and holding back his head until the dizziness took a vacation.

Once _that_ was the case, he was left to open his eyes and see none other than Hunk looking down at him.

"Hunk?" he asked, hoping his voice was nearly as strong as his constitution.

"Yeah, hey," Hunk said, looking rather unsettled. "You okay, Shiro?"

"Don't I look okay?" Shiro asked, rising into a proper sitting position by sheer force of will and ignoring the way Hunk sidestepped as he did so.

Hunk rubbed at his neck and shrugged awkwardly. "Uh, yeah. I _guess_ so. I mean, I trust you to tell us when you're not," Hunk mumbled out. His eyes then shot back to Shiro, looking incredibly sincere. " _Are_ you?'

"I'm fine," Shiro reiterated. He paused, letting the irritation leave his voice before taking a breath and nodding. "I _am_ fine. Thank you for being concerned, Hunk." He then scowled, focusing through the blurriness of the kitchen to evaluate the room. "Which is more than what I can say about this kitchen."

"Yeah," Hunk said, joining Shiro in looking around. As if the sight of food thrown all around the place was something he could have forgotten at a moment's notice. The yellow paladin then turned back to Shiro a little too quickly. "By the way: this? _Totally_ not responsible for it. Scout's honor."

Shiro hummed and leaned against the back of his chair. "I suppose I now have to evaluate how much I believe you were a scout."

With a small but confident smile, Hunk gave a signature salute of the Eagle Scouts. "You know me, Shiro. Always full of surprises." He then looked over the leader, putting the back of his hand against Shiro's forehead. "Just like you."

Lightly swatting Hunk's hand away, Shiro huffed. "Don't act like that means anything, Hunk. You're wearing your gloves. And besides, I already am suspecting Lance is at fault for the kitchen."

"What?" Hunk asked with a blink before looking back to the kitchen, again like he could have forgotten, then returned to Shiro. "Oh, yeah. Sure. But just so we're clear, these are conditions I can work with. You know, if you need me to make you something. Like soup – I can make a mean soup."

"Noted," Shiro grunted as he pushed himself out of his seat again.

With talk of _soup_ that sounded very coded for _sickness_ , he found himself compelled to be on the move yet again. Even if it made each slosh of his stomach feel like a particular type of miserable.

He just kept himself reasonably stoic enough to maintain the facade in front of Hunk and left out the opposite door, with no destination at all.

Beginning to ache from head to toe, Shiro walked forward and hoped his feet had more of a clue about where he was going than his head did. Something that became less important when he suddenly had an arm snake around his.

"There you are, Shiro!" Princess Allura greeted. "I have been looking all over for you."

"You have?" Shiro asked, trying to blink enough times that his eyes would look alert.

"Indeed I have," she said, guiding him in that very _Allura_ way that made him confident she knew what she was doing even when he had no idea what it was.

"You see, I've been watching the security vids from the control room and I keep seeing you pop up like the busy body you always are," she said, walking him somewhere that looked suspiciously like the hall where their bedrooms were. "Being the leader and all, keeping a presence around the other paladins. Doing _such_ a good job of it."

"Yeah?" he asked, having to sniff a few times more than he felt dignified.

"I have also noticed you're a bit rugged," she said, turning him toward his room's door. "Which is why I'm putting you on mandatory… _leading break_ , for now."

"Sounds like bedrest," Shiro said, eyeing all three of her very suspiciously.

"It isn't," Allura said, guiding him into the room. "Though if you would like to rest on a bed during your break-in-leadership, I by no means am here to stop you!"

The moment Shiro's back hit his bed, he felt ready to melt into the mattress. A smile worked its way onto his face despite himself and it took a firm shake of his head to drop it temporarily. "Princess," he croaked, "I'm not sick. I don't _need_ to do this."

"Of course you don't, Shiro," she said, turning off the light on her way out.

And, not because he was sick or anything, Shiro was snoring before the door ever closed.


End file.
